Watching the Watchers: Why Surveillance Is a Two-Way Street

Suddenly, cameras are everywhere. As this month's cover story notes, the recent boom in video monitoring--by both the state and businesses--means we're all being watched. It's like something out of George Orwell's 1984. Except that, unlike Orwell's protagonist Winston Smith, we can watch back--and plenty of people are doing just that. Which makes a difference.

The widespread installation of recording devices is not all bad: ATM cameras helped prove that Duke students accused of rape couldn't have committed the crime. And we all sympathize with the goals of preventing terrorism and crime, though it is not proven that security cameras accomplish this.

Nonetheless, the trend toward constant surveillance is troubling. And even if the public became concerned enough to pass laws limiting the practice, it's not clear how well those laws would work. Government officials and private companies too often ignore privacy laws. (In a notorious recent case, Hewlett-Packard executives were caught spying on the phone records of reporters covering the company.) Besides, the technology of surveillance is becoming so advanced--biologists are now attaching tiny cameras to crows' tail feathers to observe the birds' tool use in the wild--that in reality there's not much we can do to ensure privacy anyway.

Maybe that doesn't matter. Privacy is a recent phenom­enon. For most of human history, people lived in small tribes or villages where everyone knew everyone else's business. Ubiquitous surveillance may be just a case of the past as prologue.

There's a difference, though. In the old days, ordinary people didn't have much privacy, but neither did big shots. By contrast, today's government officials and big corporations often want to watch us, but they don't want to be watched in return. Shopping malls are full of security cameras, but many have signs at the entrance telling customers that no photography or video recording is allowed. Police cars have dashboard cameras, cities and counties are posting red-light and speed-limit cameras, and it seems that the dream of many government officials is to put every public space under 24-hour video watch. But try shooting photos or video of police or ­other public officials as they go about their business and you might find yourself in wrist restraints.

In recent months such cases have been piling up. Brian Kelly of Carlisle, Pa., was a passenger in his friend's car when the police pulled the vehicle over for speeding. When Kelly began videotaping, he was arrested and charged with violating a state wiretap statute and thrown in jail overnight. Charges were dropped when the district attorney recognized that recording police in public isn't much like wiretapping. In addition, the DA said that the police had no expectation of privacy when they themselves were recording the incident. Michael Gannon, of Nashua, N.H., faced similar charges when he used a front-door security camera to record what he considered to be overly aggressive behavior by a detective. The charges against Gannon were dropped. That's the eventual outcome in most such cases, though sometimes photographs and video are lost in the process.

Of course, it's understandable that police might be skittish. Ever since the Rodney King case, police have known that video images--whether recorded by citizens or by the authorities themselves--can provoke controversy. With video technology spreading so rapidly, such images are coming to light more often. In October 2007, an elite unit of the Chicago Police Department was disbanded after video emerged of its members shaking down barroom customers. A policeman in Puerto Rico is under FBI investigation because video--uploaded to YouTube--apparently shows him executing an unarmed man. And a Baltimore woman recently won a $180,000 false arrest and imprisonment lawsuit based on police videotape evidence that confirmed a different but similarly dressed woman was the one buying drugs.

Supporters of widespread surveillance often argue, "If you're obeying the law, you have nothing to fear." Why shouldn't the same go for police officers? The cases above all involve accusations of extreme misconduct or errors on the part of police. Let's hope those are rare. Far more common, I suspect, are cases where the existence of a video record helps protect honest cops from false charges. The "don't Tase me, bro" case became a YouTube sensation after footage emerged of University of Florida police using a Taser on an obstreperous student. But ultimately that same footage was instrumental in clearing the officers of charges of wrongdoing.

Under the law, citizens have no right not to be photographed in public places. So why should people who make their living on the taxpayers' dime enjoy greater freedom from public scrutiny than the taxpayers themselves? Civil liberties groups have begun supporting the trend toward a video-enabled populace. The Eastern Missouri chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union sends out volunteers with cameras, though they have faced police hostility at times.

Over the long haul, such efforts may be superfluous. The widespread availability of digital cameras and video-capable cellphones means that ubiquitous surveillance on the part of the little guys is moving, if anything, even faster than ubiquitous surveillance on the part of the big boys. And distribution tools like YouTube make it easier to get the footage to a large audience.

I think that's a good thing. Today's pervasive surveillance may seem like something out of 1984, but access to technology has become a lot more democratic since Orwell's time. Big Brother had a network of security cameras, but could that oppressive regime have survived a network of cellphones?

A Part of Hearst Digital Media
Popular Mechanics participates in various affiliate marketing programs, which means we may get paid commissions on editorially chosen products purchased through our links to retailer sites.